


some loves aren't meant to last (but maybe ours is)

by volacious



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, Hanahaki Disease, Hopeful Ending, Inarizaki's motto plays a big part in this, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Memory Loss, Miya Atsumu-centric, OsaSuna break up, Probable canon inaccuracies, Surgery (but not in detail), Unrequited Love, kind of, not betaread, probable OOC, things turn out okay, unrequited AtsuKita
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26675104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volacious/pseuds/volacious
Summary: It's not a particularly special day or moment when Atsumu looks at the pink petals in the toilet bowl, the taste of iron fresh in his mouth, and decides he has to get rid of them. It's nothing short of foolish, really, for him to not have done so earlier. Why has he carried the epitome of a sakura tree in his lungs for a week, for someone who doesn't feel the same way about him?Atsumu pulls out his phone and does something he should have done a week ago — he books an appointment with the Hanahaki clinic at the nearest hospital.2 weeks after the third-years graduate, Atsumu calls Rintarou up on a Friday night and asks him to accompany him to the hospital.Rintarou agrees, on the condition that Atsumu owes him a favour.1 year later, Rintarou cashes it in.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Suna Rintarou, Miya Atsumu/Suna Rintarou, Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 26
Kudos: 210





	some loves aren't meant to last (but maybe ours is)

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings (in case you didn't read the tags): medical inaccuracies, probable OOC, some swearing, manga spoilers
> 
> Otherwise, enjoy this 13k monster of a fic

*

“Atsumu... I’m sorry,” Kita says, slowly, like there’s a proportional relationship between the rate at which the apology falls off his tongue and the degree of heartbreak they’ll bring.

They’re standing in the school courtyard, under a sakura tree. It’s a popular spot for confessions, particularly when the sakura trees are in bloom. Right now, though, it’s early March, and the sakura season isn’t here yet. There are no pink petals in the air or on the ground, just green all around, and it only serves to remind Atsumu more of just how horrible this sort of timing is.

There’s a lump at the back of his throat, sitting right on his larynx. Atsumu tries to swallow it down, but it remains lodged in his trachea. 

Maybe Kita says something along the lines of, “I can’t return your feelings.”

Or maybe he says something like, “It’s not the right time to start a long-distance relationship. We’re both still growing as people, and we’ve gotta be free to expand our horizons beyond this.”

Atsumu doesn’t know, because the drum of his heartbeat in his ears is too loud. Then again, he doesn’t need to hear the rest of Kita’s rejection, nor does he _want_ to.

 _What were you expecting?_ Atsumu asks himself, bitterly. _Confessing on the day of graduation to Kita-san? You knew this was going to happen._

And Atsumu has known, in a way. He’s known since the day he saw Kita cry when he’d received the jersey with the number ‘1’ imprinted on it, has known since the day Kita had left him the little care package when he’d gone to practice sick, has known that this love of his was never going to end in a way he’d be satisfied with.

In a way, he’s already known long before the flowers.

“Don’t be sorry, Kita-san.” The words come out in a rush, like Atsumu had prepared them, recited them a hundred times over in his mind before. He tries to smile, but it ends up more of a grimace than anything else. “My heart’s only gonna break harder if ya keep lookin’ at me like that, y’know?”

Kita doesn’t say anything in response to that — just stands there, all proper, his hands folded in front of him. It’s a bit sobering, really, maybe even disillusioning, to know that even Kita hesitates during a rejection. That even Kita, who values routine and diligence and perseverance over everything else, who always seems to have the proper response to everything, stumbles over words.

“Atsumu,” Kita calls out, then hesitates, again. Atsumu’s eyes find Kita’s, even if it sends another wave of _something_ fluttering in his chest, in the worst way possible. “I’m sure that one day, you’ll find someone much better than me. Someone who’s meant to be with you, and who will return your love the way you want me to.”

 _But I wanted that to be you_ , Atsumu thinks but doesn’t say. 

Instead, he says, “You don’t hafta be so nice to me, Kita-san. It’ll only make all this, _harder_ , ya know?”

Kita presses his lips together in a thin line. He looks like he’s contemplating what to say next. Atsumu wonders how long they’ve spent in the courtyard in this awkward situation — an unrequited love, an unnecessary confession, an unavoidable rejection.

In the end, Kita says simply, “I wish you the best, Atsumu.”

When Kita leaves, he bows his head down as he passes Atsumu to walk out of the courtyard. It makes a heavy, prickly sensation rise up in Atsumu’s chest.

 _Kita-san always walks with his head held up high_ , his mind thinks, traitorously, before he can stop it.

Kita has just barely left the courtyard when Atsumu drops to his knees and starts coughing. He hacks, thumps at his chest, but every cough is too shallow, so he _gags_ , and then—

Petals come spilling out of his mouth and onto the grass.

 _T_ _here are so many of them_ , Atsumu barely has time to realise, before he’s bending over and coughing up even more.

He spends a good 10 minutes, at the very least, in that position, throwing up every single petal he’d managed to keep hidden for a year. Every time he thinks it’s finally over, there’s the familiar itch at the base of his throat, and then the weight presses its little fingers into his windpipe, and the whole process starts again.

By the end of it, Atsumu is left kneeling in the courtyard, alone, surrounded by hundreds of pink petals.

 _Thanks for the farewell present, Kita-san_ , Atsumu thinks bitterly.

It’s a beautiful day today, sunny and bright, not a cloud in sight. Even so, droplets of water fall down Atsumu’s face and onto the grass.

* * *

At first, the sakura petals are more of a nuisance than anything else. Atsumu could just think of them as regular coughing spells, spaced hours apart. Then, he starts coughing up more and more during each visit to the toilet. After that, he starts running out of breath faster than before, having to slow down on his 5th lap during warm-ups at practice. 

It only takes a week for the flowers in his lungs to start coming out stained with blood.

It’s not a particularly special day or moment when Atsumu looks at the pink petals in the toilet bowl, the taste of iron fresh in his mouth, and decides he has to get rid of them. It’s nothing short of foolish, really, for him to not have done so earlier. Why has he carried the epitome of a sakura tree in his lungs for a week, for someone who doesn’t feel the same way about him? 

Atsumu pulls out his phone and does something he should have done a week ago — he books an appointment with the Hanahaki clinic at the nearest hospital. 

*

He doesn’t tell his parents, nor does he tell his twin brother. It’s harder to keep it a secret from his family because they live in the same house, but he somehow manages to by spending every waking hour he can outside instead. 

Atsumu braces himself for the question from his parents, or perhaps Osamu, about why he’s been so distant lately.

But it never comes.

His dad is busy with work as always, so Atsumu can’t exactly fault him for not noticing. His mom probably thinks he’s slaving away over volleyball again, something she’s become used to. And as for Osamu—

That sorry excuse of a twin brother he’s got has been spending every waking minute with Suna.

If Atsumu had hated how he’d pretty much been third-wheeling the two of them even before they officially got together, then he definitely _despises_ being in the same room as them now. All Osamu does is look at his phone and grin like an idiot when the special ringtone he set for Suna goes off. 

It’s absolutely _revolting_.

Atsumu is relieved, though, and maybe even _grateful_ for the distraction it provides. Osamu has always been observant — even if he seldom acts on his observations — and Atsumu probably wouldn’t be able to hide the fact that he's starting to spend a lot more time in the bathroom with the shower running while he bends over a toilet and tries to scrape out the entirety of his feelings for their ex-captain if Osamu isn’t preoccupied with texting Suna every second of the day.

Today is the day of his appointment at the hospital. This whole thing is one step closer to finally being over. Atsumu turns off the shower once he thinks he’s got the last of the petals up. He feels a bit dizzy, so he leans back on the cool tiled wall of the bathroom, slides down the wall until he’s sitting, and closes his eyes against the bright light above. 

_Just one second_ , he thinks to himself. _Just one more second_.

He breathes in slowly, stopping just as he feels the familiar turbulence of the petals in his lungs stirring slightly, lightly. He holds the breath for 5 seconds before letting it out, a soft sigh resting upon his lips.

Then, he snaps his eyes open, pushes himself to his feet and flushes the sakura petals down the toilet. He washes his hands and gargles the mouthwash he’d asked his mother to buy when this whole thing started.

Even so, the bitter taste lingers on his tongue. Atsumu briefly considers ripping the damn thing out of his mouth — as if that will somehow solve this entire situation. If it had been that easy, Atsumu would have done it long ago, without an ounce of hesitation.

His appointment is approximately less than an hour away, but Atsumu knows he needs to go through registration and everything, so he starts getting ready. He’s more interested in hiding any discerning features of himself, in case he somehow bumps into someone who knows him, so he selects a black hoodie from his side of the closet. 

“Where’re ya goin’?” Osamu asks from where he’s lying on his futon lazily, his eyes glued to his phone.

“Out,” Atsumu replies shortly. He doesn’t elaborate because that will just give Osamu more chances to catch him out on a lie.

“Can you stop by the store and grab some more pudding?” Osamu doesn’t sound the least bit interested in where Atsumu is actually going. “We’re almost out.”

“Yeah, yeah, I will.” Atsumu puts on a bucket hat for good measure to obscure his head of blond hair and pulls the hood up over it. He grabs his wallet and shoves it into his pocket, mentally trying to recall what else he might need to bring with him to the hospital.

He’s got his ID and health insurance cards in his wallet. Cash. His transportation card. His phone is in his pocket. That's pretty much all you need, right?

Atsumu glances over at the clock. He’s got about 10 minutes before the next bus he has to catch to get to the hospital. He’d better get going now if he doesn’t want to miss it and end up late to his appointment.

“Ma, I’m going out!” he calls out to let his mom know as he grabs his set of house keys and steps into his shoes. He doesn’t wait for her reply before setting off.

The bus stop is around a 7-minute walk away from where Atsumu lives. 

Atsumu makes it in 5. 

He’s the only one at the bus stop when the bus shows up. Atsumu steps on and touches his transportation card to the reader at the door. The bus is mostly empty, so Atsumu slips into a window seat.

It’s around 20 minutes to his stop, and then 5 minutes of walking to get to the hospital. For now, though, all Atsumu does is look out the window blankly, as if that can somehow trick the ache in his chest into disappearing.

*

During his appointment, after he’s done the lung function and imaging tests, Atsumu sits on a chair in the consultation room, waiting for the doctor to return with the test results.

He’s staring blankly at an informative diagram on the wall of the lungs, with various arrows describing which part of the lung is which. All Atsumu can think of, however, is how there’s a foreign structure in his lungs named after his ex-captain slowly suffocating him.

The sound of the door to the consultation room opening snaps Atsumu out of his daze. The doctor walks over to his seat, brown paper envelopes in hand. He opens them up, clears his throat, and says, “Right, I’ve got your results here with me. Now, I’d like to go through what they mean and the best option forward…”

The doctor launches into a detailed explanation about the lung imaging picture he shows to Atsumu. Atsumu stares at the picture, his eyes lingering on the petals obstructing certain parts of his lungs. 

Seeing it like this, realising that this can actually _kill_ him — it scares Atsumu. It terrifies him more than he’d like to admit. It makes his throat clench up tight until he’s not even sure how he’s breathing anymore, and a familiar feeling bursts in his ribcage that makes him think, _no, not again_.

Atsumu is so, _so_ tired of not being able to breathe. He’s already made his decision — there’s no need to hesitate or dawdle around any longer.

“Will I still be able to play volleyball after this?” Atsumu interrupts, his voice a little scratchy from disuse.

The doctor looks surprised for a split second, then schools his expression back to a more professional one. “You will need to take it easy for 1 to 2 weeks after the surgery, but you’re lucky because the stage of the Hanahaki disease you’re in is still early. You will definitely still be able to participate in sports after the surgery.”

Atsumu nods. That’s all he needed to hear. He ignores the little fluttering in his chest when he clears his throat slightly and says, “Okay. When can I come in for the surgery to be done?”

The doctor clicks through something on his computer. “The next free slot is in one week from now. Would that be a good time for you?”

Atsumu thinks about it for a while, trying to remember if there’s anything of particular importance on that day. He can’t think of anything, so he nods his head.

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

The doctor puts him in for the scheduled slot and continues to explain to him more about the surgery aftermath. He mentions that Hanahaki removal surgery is free for citizens of Japan under 20 years old — something Atsumu might have appreciated more if his mind isn’t occupied with thoughts of how come next Friday, he’ll lose any memories he has of Kita.

 _Maybe it’s for the best_ , Atsumu thinks in the end. _No_ , _it is for the best._

Maybe if he repeats it over and over, he’ll come to believe in it.

* * *

Atsumu has plenty of opportunities to tell his parents or Osamu about his surgery over the next 7 days leading up to it. At any moment, really, he could have just opened his mouth and told them he had flowers growing in his lungs that were going to suffocate him if he didn’t get them removed. He could have even gone the dramatic route and let them find out through the flowers in the toilet bowl, which he could strategically “forget” to flush away. 

But he doesn’t.

He’s not entirely sure why, but he doesn’t want to tell them. Maybe it’s his wounded pride, or maybe it’s his enormous ego that Suna once called taller than the Tokyo Skytree; either way, the days tick by while Atsumu runs out of tomorrows to delay the inevitable to.

Friday rolls around, and after volleyball practice, Atsumu heads home alone.

Usually, Osamu and Suna would accompany him, what with Suna being the vice-captain and Osamu being Suna's clingy boyfriend; however, today, he’d made the two of them go on first, unwilling to bear witness to the two lovebirds while he suppresses the urge to cough up his lungs.

On the walk home, he contemplates his options. The doctor had told him he needed someone to accompany him if he wanted to be discharged on the same night as the surgery, and that it could be an adult or a friend around his age. Atsumu had wanted to be discharged after the mandatory 1-hour monitoring post-surgery, so he could avoid having to explain to anyone else where he had been that night, but this stupid rule basically made it pointless.

Someone else is going to know, no matter what.

Atsumu had been turning this dilemma over and over in his head the entire week, prodding it, dissecting it, laying it out under a microscope lens — as if he’d be able to find an answer in the coils of DNA in its nucleus. 

In the end, he winds up calling Suna while he’s leaning against the side of the bus stop, his heart hammering in his chest.

Suna picks up after two rings. “What do you want?”

It’s too late to back out now. “Sunarin, can ya do me a favour?”

Maybe Suna somehow manages to hear his voice trembling, even over the phone, because he doesn’t immediately hang up on Atsumu like he usually does. Instead, he says, “Depends. What kind of favour is it?”

“I need ya to go to the hospital with me.” Now that he's said it out loud, it feels like some of the burden on his chest has been lifted off. 

“The hospital?” A pause. “Why do you need _me_ to go with you?”

“I’ll explain later,” Atsumu promises. “Can you come to the bus stop near my house?”

Suna sighs. “Yeah, fine. You owe me, though.” Then, he hangs up.

Atsumu stares at his phone for a while after that. That had gone surprisingly well. It hadn’t lived up to the dread that had piled up over the past week, and Atsumu doesn’t know whether he should feel relieved or annoyed.

Suna lives around 15 minutes away from the bus stop, though that’s going by the speed Suna usually walks at. It’s a good thing that Atsumu has over an hour before he needs to be at the hospital.

For now, though, he contemplates the various ways in which he can give Suna the explanation he’d promised.

While he’s waiting for Suna, a bus comes and leaves. It’s not the bus that Atsumu needs to take, so it doesn’t really matter, but as the bus leaves, Atsumu notices Suna jogging over to him. He comes to a stop in front of Atsumu, looking awfully out of breath for someone who is a regular player on the volleyball team.

“Yer seriously gettin' unfit, Sunarin,” Atsumu teases, a smirk on his face, pretending like his own heart isn’t about to jump out of his mouth with how fast it’s beating. “Maybe ya should actually start puttin' in more effort at practice.”

Suna glares at him. “I’m not _unfit_.” Suna scrunches his face up, like he can’t believe the audacity Atsumu has to say that. “And anyway, this is _your_ fault for just dropping a bomb like that on me and not even specifying how much time I had to get here?”

Atsumu blinks, surprised, but he doesn’t get the chance to respond to that before Suna asks, “Was that bus the one we were supposed to catch? How much time do you have before you need to be at the hospital?”

This entire situation is just getting more surprising as it goes on. Atsumu had thought Suna would be grilling him about why he needs to go to the hospital before anything else, but Suna is, apparently, more worried about him being late.

An unfamiliar feeling surges in his chest. It’s probably the sakura petals. Atsumu dismisses it, and replies to Suna, “Whoa, chill out. Relax, I’ve got plenty of time left before I need to be at the hospital, and that ain't even the bus we’re gonna take.”

Suna looks at him, an unreadable expression on his face. Then, he punches Atsumu on the arm, _hard_. 

“Ow!” Atsumu yelps, hand automatically reaching to rub over the sore spot. “The fuck was that for?”

“That, was for making me worry.” Suna’s usual deadpan expression is back on. “Now, tell me exactly why I’m the one accompanying you to the hospital.”

Atsumu sighs. Just as he’s about to open his mouth to tell Suna about the flowers growing in his lungs, however, there’s the all-too-familiar feeling of petals dancing and weaving around and about his bronchial tubes.

He barely has time to run over to the bushes behind the bus stop before he’s coughing up fistfuls of sakura smeared with blood. He heaves, and gags, and retches until there's pink everywhere in the initially green bushes. By the end of it, Atsumu is shaking from the sheer exertion of the forceful, continuous chest contractions.

“Well fuck,” Suna says, ever so eloquently. There’s an indiscernible look on his face again, though it's slightly different from the one earlier.

Atsumu coughs up one last petal and watches it flitter ever so slowly onto the ground. He reaches up to wipe his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket.

“‘Fuck’ is right,” Atsumu says, pretending that the slight quiver to his words is because of the wind and nothing else. He clears his throat and walks back over to the front of the bus stop.

Suna follows him until he’s standing besides Atsumu. “How long?” he asks casually, like this is a normal, everyday conversation.

“2 weeks,” Atsumu replies, equally as casual.

Suna hums noncommittally but doesn’t say anything in response to that. Atsumu waits for him to ask who Atsumu harbours an unrequited love for, or to make some snide joke about him not knowing Atsumu is capable of feeling love towards anyone at all. 

Instead, Suna lets Atsumu stew in his own thoughts in silence.

When the bus finally comes, Atsumu hesitates before he says, “Hey, Sunarin. Don’t tell ‘Samu about this, ‘kay?”

Suna pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Yeah, fine. Whatever. I don’t get the two of you, honestly.”

Atsumu shrugs. “Maybe that’s a _you_ problem,” he says ever so helpfully.

Suna shoots him a glare. “I mean, seriously, do you think ‘Samu’s gonna make fun or laugh at you for this?”

“Well…” Atsumu’s smile is sardonic and acerbic all at once. “I did say I was gonna live the happier life.”

A pause hangs in the air. Then, Suna sighs again, shaking his head as he mutters to himself, “Twins…”

Neither of them say another word for the remainder of the bus ride.

* * *

At the hospital, Atsumu is led to a ward and given a patient gown to change into. The nurse tells him that there will be someone along to check his vitals soon and to prepare him for the procedure before she leaves to check on another patient. Suna politely waits outside the curtains drawn around Atsumu’s bed while Atsumu changes. When he’s done, he draws the curtains back and beckons Suna to come over. 

Suna seats himself in the sole chair placed by the side of the hospital bed, which Atsumu climbs onto and lies down on. The atmosphere of the ward is noisy, with overlapping sounds of multiple pairs of footsteps, but Suna is being unreasonably quiet and looking at his phone, not even paying attention to Atsumu, and Atsumu thinks he might go crazy if he has to deal with his thoughts alone.

So, he calls out, “Hey, Sunarin.”

Suna looks up at him. “What?”

“Aintcha gonna ask me who they’re for?” It’s something that has been plaguing him since earlier, but even though he’s the one who brought up the question now, Atsumu feels dread grip him. That’s okay, though, because these are the last few times Kita Shinsuke will ever make him feel something like _this_.

Suna appears to consider it for a moment. “I mean, I already know who they’re for. You were so obvious, it was kind of hard to not notice.”

“Huh?” Atsumu doesn’t seem to believe what he just heard. “Whaddya mean?”

“I mean that you were always following Kita-san around like some lost pup, so much that ‘Samu even came up with something like, ‘if ya can’t find ‘Tsumu, just look for Kita-san.’”

Atsumu feels a wave of murderous intent surge up in him. “He did _what_ now?” He makes a mental note to give Osamu a good beating or two when he gets home later.

Suna looks downright amused by this. “Yeah, pretty much everyone knew you had a puppy crush on Kita-san.”

Atsumu doesn’t know if the reason his face is burning up is because of mortification or anger.

“I mean, I wouldn’t have guessed that you’d actually fall in love with him, though,” Suna continues. Then, he presses his lips into a thin line, as if he’s realised he probably shouldn’t have said that last bit out loud.

Atsumu doesn’t know how to even respond to that, so he keeps quiet instead. 

"How are you feeling?" Suna asks, sounding terribly desperate to move on from the last topic.

Atsumu shrugs. “Feelin’ pretty nervous, I guess. I mean, ‘s just that…” He hesitates for a second. “I dunno. ‘S gonna be pretty weird having a chunk of my memories gone.”

He doesn’t specify what memories, but Suna knows anyway. They go to the same school, after all; both of them had attended the same Hanahaki seminar the school organises each year.

“What, did you put off getting the surgery for a whole 2 weeks just ‘cause you didn’t want to forget about Kita-san?” When Suna puts it like that, it truly frames Atsumu as some no-brain, romantic sucker who’d do anything for love. 

It makes Atsumu’s blood boil, because— 

Well, he’s here now, isn’t he? Sitting in a hospital bed, waiting for his vitals to be checked and then to be wheeled into surgery. He’s already chosen to go down this path despite knowing about the side effects of the surgery.

Atsumu’s face must have twisted into something ugly, or maybe Suna realises he had gone a bit too far, because Suna sighs exasperatedly and says, “What I’m trying to say is, you’ve got to stop being such a loser, Atsumu.”

“The fu—” 

“You’ve got bigger dreams than Kita-san anyway, don’t you?” Suna’s eyes are gleaming — it’s the sort of gleam that mocks you and calls you a loser in 10 different languages, that challenges you in every way but verbally to a competition to prove who’s better.

It’s the sort of gleam that gets Atsumu all fired up.

“Yeah.” Atsumu chuckles after the tense pause. “I do.”

* * *

After the surgery, Atsumu fades back into consciousness slowly. The first thing he registers is the bright light shining down on him, impeding his sleep. The second thing he notices, when he turns to the side to avoid the light directly falling into his eyes, is Suna.

There’s definitely something wrong here. Firstly, Atsumu doesn’t seem to be in his room. But if he’s not in his room, where is he? And why is Suna here? Is this some sort of weird dream?

Atsumu scrunches up his face. He hopes that last thought isn’t true. It’s pretty weird to be dreaming about your twin brother’s boyfriend.

“Oh, you’re awake.” Suna seems to have noticed that Atsumu had woken up. “I’ll get the nurse.”

The nurse? Is he in the infirmary or something? Atsumu tries to recall what exactly had happened before he lost consciousness, but his brain seems to have turned to mush.

Suna returns with a nurse fairly quickly, who shines a light into Atsumu’s eyes and checks his vitals. Atsumu, who’s been slowly regaining his sense of mind through this process, asks, “Where am I?” His words are a bit slurred but still understandable. 

“You’re in the hospital,” the nurse answers him, writing on a clipboard. “The doctor will be here shortly to explain some things to you, just sit tight while you wait.”

Atsumu stares blankly at the spot the nurse had been after she walks off. Nothing is making sense at all. Why is he in the hospital? And why is Suna here with him? Is Osamu here? Did he go off to get some snacks from the vending machine or something?

“Sunarin.” Atsumu grimaces at the way the nickname falls off his tongue — it’s choppy and awkward and nothing at all like how it should sound. “Why’re ya here? Is ‘Samu here too?”

Suna is giving him a calculating look— no, that’s not quite right. It’s not as cold as his usual calculating look, the one that shows on his face when he’s contemplating some sort of new scheme. This look is softer — or as soft as Suna can get, anyway.

“You asked me to come to the hospital with you,” Suna finally replies. He hesitates, then asks, “Do you remember that?”

Atsumu furrows his brows in concentration as he tries to remember. His mind is hazy with dense fog right now, but he thinks he might remember something to that degree. That’s right, he _had_ asked Suna to come to the hospital with him — but why?

“Why am I in the hospital?” Atsumu asks eventually, when he still can’t clear the fog in his mind after a few minutes.

There’s a troubled look on Suna’s face, like he doesn’t know where to even begin. That’s never a good sign. Atsumu’s heart sinks to the bottom of his stomach.

Just then, the doctor draws back the curtains and walks over to the side of the bed, picking up the clipboard from the table as he does so. “Right,” he begins while still checking over the details. “I understand you’re probably a bit confused right now about why you’re here, Miya-san, but don’t worry. I’ll explain everything to you and answer any questions you may have, is that alright?”

Atsumu nods by way of an answer.

The doctor starts with a question, “Do you know what the Hanahaki disease is, Miya-san?”

“Yeah, I do.” Atsumu’s heart sinks even more, if that’s possible. “It’s when you love someone and they reject you and then, um, flowers start growing in your lungs, right?”

“That’s correct,” the doctor confirms. “Well, you’ve just had the surgery to remove those flowers from your lungs, Miya-san.”

Atsumu blinks once. Twice. “Me?” He points to himself in disbelief.

The doctor nods. “That’s right. Your mind is probably still working a bit slow because of the anaesthetic we gave you for the surgery, but you’ll be able to remember some details after it wears off.”

Hanahaki. He’d had Hanahaki. Atsumu had had flowers growing in his lungs and had to get surgery to remove them. Trying to process that makes his head dizzy. How could that have happened? Who had the flowers been for? 

Atsumu has about a million questions floating around in his head while he listens to the doctor rattle on about some more details about the surgery and how he should take care of himself during the healing process.

By the end of it, Atsumu really only has one question to ask when the doctor asks if he has anything he wants clarified.

“Who were they for?” he blurts out, still reeling quite a bit from the information dump.

Suna looks at the doctor. “Can I tell him? Will it trigger some sort of relapse?”

“You can tell him who it was for; that won’t trigger anything like a relapse since he won’t be able to have any romantic feelings for that person ever again.” The doctor pauses for a moment. “He _will_ be able to develop Hanahaki again, though, if he has another unrequited love for a different person.”

Suna nods. “Alright, thank you, doctor.”

“It was my pleasure.” The doctor looks back at Atsumu. “If you have any more questions, pass them on to a nurse and I will get back to you when I can.”

After the doctor leaves, Suna tells him, “They were for Kita-san.”

Atsumu’s jaw drops open slightly. “ _Kita-san_?” he repeats, not believing his ears. For a brief second, he wonders if Suna is messing with him.

His mind jumps to the memories he can recall of Kita. They’re all set during his first year, and they’re few and far in between. None of them are from his second year, or more recently at all — which is weird, because Atsumu is a third-year now and he should definitely have much more recollection of Kita than he does. 

It’s almost like there are gaps in his memory—

_Oh._

Atsumu’s eyes shift back over to Suna. He wonders if his expression is conveying exactly how helpless he feels right now. Suna returns his gaze steadily, looking impossibly serious.

The next question Atsumu asks is, “Does anyone else know?”

Suna thinks about his answer for a bit, then shakes his head. “I don’t think so. You called me up at the last minute possible and asked me to accompany you here, so I’m guessing your parents don’t know. You also asked me not to tell ‘Samu.”

Atsumu lets out a sigh of relief. “That’s good,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

Suna doesn’t say anything in response to that — he simply purses his lips together into a thin line.

*

After Atsumu has been checked over by a nurse and deemed ready for discharge, they hop on the second last bus of the night back.

By the time they reach their stop, it’s already nearing midnight. They both thank the bus driver as they step off, making sure to tap their transportation cards to the reader as they do.

Atsumu turns to face Suna, who’s looking at him expectantly. “I can get back on my own fine from here. Ya don’t have to come with, Sunarin.”

Suna sighs. “The doctor said I had to bring you all the way back, so just get a move on already, idiot."

Atsumu bristles at that. “I ain't no idiot! If I’m an idiot, then yer a scrub,” he shoots back.

Unfortunately, Suna isn’t the slightest bit fazed by that. “Sure,” he replies monotonously.

It’s no fun trying to get a rise out of someone only to fail, so Atsumu huffs, dissatisfied, but decides to leave it at that. 

The 7-minute walk to Atsumu’s house seems to stretch on for hours, further lengthened by the quiet that follows after them like a stray dog. When they finally come to a stop in front of Atsumu’s house, Atsumu notes that the lights are all off, save for one.

“Thanks fer today, Sunarin.” Atsumu turns to face Suna.

It’s dark, but Atsumu can make out Suna’s copyright bored expression as he nods. “Yeah. Don’t forget, you owe me one.”

Atsumu waves him off. “Well even if I forget, you’ll just remind me when the time comes.”

Suna shrugs, then turns around and walks back in the direction they’d come from.

Atsumu watches him go, then shakes his head to himself as he unlocks the gate and steps into his house compound.

* * *

Life goes back to normal — or at least, as normal as it can get. 

It’s their third and final year at Inarizaki. Atsumu is team captain now, and he wears the jersey number ‘1’ with pride. Suna is vice-captain, and he makes a good one too, even if he had complained when the role had been given to him.

The doctor had told him to take it easy for 1 to 2 weeks, and Atsumu has been following his instructions as best he can. He cuts down on practising serves and receives, and adds on extra time practising hitting a ball against the wall instead. 

It’s their third year — the last year they will play with these uniforms on the court, the last year they will play with this exact line-up, and the last year Osamu will play in an official setting before giving up volleyball and going to culinary school.

Atsumu takes on the role of captain with more ease than anyone had expected. They’d thought he would stumble at first — maybe even suck at it for a couple of weeks. Instead, Atsumu surprises them all with his steadfast leadership.

It might have something to do with the chunk of memories missing from the past year or so, or it might have something to do with this being the last year he will play with his twin on the court officially. Either way, Atsumu pushes the team to challenge their limits, his hunger for victory an infectious disease that seeps into every crack it can find, until they’re all starving for _more_.

Atsumu will be damned if he doesn’t lead his team to win nationals this year. So he discards every other thought apart from volleyball, and practices again, again, and again. He’s the earliest to reach team practice and the last to leave. He gulps down sports drink after sports drink but he already knows nothing will be able to quench this thirst of his.

Nothing but victory will.

Atsumu says it out loud one night, when the lights in their shared room are already switched off — like a promise you’d only ever make in the dark. “We’re gonna win.”

Osamu doesn’t reply, so Atsumu adds on, “Nationals. I’m going to lead us all to victory. Just you wait, ‘Samu. Yer gonna regret giving up volleyball after this.”

Something akin to a scoff escapes Osamu. “Yeah, we’re gonna win alright. But that ain't gonna make me regret my decision.”

There’s silence for a while. “Well, if ya ever regret it, ya could always just ask me real nicely to set for you again and I'll consider it, being the nice, generous older brother I am.”

Without missing a beat, Osamu replies, “Not a chance.”

Atsumu makes a sound like he’s being strangled, but before he can say anything else, Osamu warns, “I’m gonna sleep now. If ya keep bein’ noisy, I’ll sit on you until you pass out.”

Atsumu wisely shuts his mouth. Not so much as a single peep escapes him for the rest of the night.

And in the silence, the promise ties itself into the red string connecting them.

* * *

At some point, Suna becomes Rintarou.

It slips out one day, purely accidental. A simple call of, “Hey, Rin, toss me a ball, will ya?” and both Osamu and Rintarou look at him weird but neither of them comment on it. Rintarou obliges and tosses him a ball, and there’s nothing more to it.

Later, when they are alone, Osamu asks, casually, “Since when do you call him Rin?”

“What?” Atsumu thinks back to earlier. “It just slipped out, ‘s all.”

Then, he wriggles his eyebrows at Osamu, a shit-eating grin on his face. “What, ya got a problem with it? Gonna play the overprotective boyfriend?”

Osamu spikes a ball at him, but Atsumu has been expecting it and catches it with ease, sticking his tongue out childishly at his twin.

“Shaddup, ya scrub, I never said I had a problem with it,” Osamu glares at him. Then, his gaze softens as he says, “‘Sides, Rin wouldn’t like it if I did that when he didn’t have a problem with it.”

It’s disgustingly sweet and Atsumu makes his feelings about it clear by gagging at it. When Osamu doesn’t respond to his taunt, he starts making exaggerated kissy noises instead, until Osamu finally shuts him up with a well-aimed kick.

Just like that, another little change weaves itself seamlessly into their lives.

* * *

They win nationals.

In the Spring Interhigh finals, they face Itachiyama from across the net. They play full sets, neither team relenting at all, and everyone is exhausted by the end of it when Osamu slams down the ball for the winning point of the game. 

There is silence. Then, the referee blows the whistle, and—

“We won!” Someone shouts — he thinks it might be Ginjima. Atsumu doesn’t get to confirm it, because he’s enveloped by the other members of his team in a group hug almost instantaneously. His mind is still a bit frayed from the long game, but he’s cheering as loud as everyone else.

The roaring cheers from their school section in the crowd are deafening, but Atsumu only has to look over at Osamu to know they’re thinking the exact same thing.

_We finally won._

They shake hands with the Itachiyama players, and when Atsumu gets to Sakusa, he makes eye contact with him and smiles. Sakusa looks resigned, as if he’s preparing for Atsumu to make some snide remark.

Instead, all Atsumu says is, “Good game, Omi-kun.”

There’s nothing that tastes better than a victory he’s been chasing for 3 years, so Atsumu savours it, sears it into the underside of his tongue as a promise to himself. 

This is just the beginning, after all. Atsumu has a whole professional volleyball league out there to conquer, and a twin brother to beat at living a happier life.

*

After the award ceremony where Atsumu receives the first-place trophy and the Best High School Setter award, they meet the ex-third-years who have taken time off to come and watch them win.

When Atsumu sees Kita Shinsuke again for the first time since the surgery, he forgets how to breathe. It’s a bodily reflex more than anything else, though, because Atsumu doesn’t feel _anything_ when he looks at his ex-captain.

Kita is smiling at him. Atsumu has never seen him smile like this, or if he has, those memories are long gone. It’s a pretty smile, Atsumu acknowledges. It’s the kind of smile that Atsumu might have given anything to see directed at him, once.

But Atsumu is no longer stuck in a quicksand of maybes and once-upon-a-times. He is no longer a second-year, nursing a wounded ego and an unwanted love. He is Miya Atsumu, third-year captain of the Inarizaki volleyball team who led them to victory and the best high school setter.

So when Kita says, “Congratulations, Atsumu. You led them well,” while smiling, Atsumu doesn’t hesitate to return it with a smile of his own.

“Thank you, Kita-san.” It’s short, brief, and most of all, _safe_. Atsumu doesn’t know if Kita knows he’d gotten Hanahaki removal surgery and subsequently lost the entirety of the memories they shared, but he knows his ex-captain is the furthest thing from clueless.

There are only three options for someone afflicted with Hanahaki — reciprocation of love, removal surgery, or falling out of love. The last one is rarely ever the solution, because Hanahaki is a time-sensitive and life-threatening disease, but perhaps Kita believes it had been the route Atsumu had taken.

It’s stupid and unnecessary. Atsumu will never hold romantic feelings for Kita Shinsuke again in this lifetime, but he still wants to keep the surgery a secret from his ex-captain. It’s almost laughable, really.

Then again, maybe it’s all about necessity. Kita doesn’t need to know about the surgery — why would he? It had been a one-sided thing from the start, all the way to the end — an unevenly tipped balance weighed down on Atsumu’s side while Kita looked down at him from where he stood on top of his side of the scale, an unnerving, unwavering, unyielding look in his eyes.

Atsumu glances over at Rintarou, who mouths the words, “You okay?” at him in a completely unsubtle way. His expression is a teasing one, but there’s a hint of something else in his gaze.

Atsumu’s eyes shift over to Kita, who’s now conversing with Osamu about his plans for the future. Then, he looks back at Rintarou, smiles, and mouths back, “Yeah.”

_I’m okay now._

* * *

2 months after they win the final Spring Interhigh of their high school volleyball careers, they graduate from Inarizaki High School.

After the graduation ceremony, when his high school diploma is already safely tucked into a cylindrical tube, Atsumu passes on the title of captain and the jersey number ‘1’ to Riseki.

There’s something about graduation day, Atsumu supposes, because Riseki, who’s always been rational and composed, cries when he receives his new jersey number. Atsumu slaps him on the back as comfort, and says, “Lead ‘em well.”

Then, for good measure, he adds on, only half-joking, “Make me proud, will ya?”

Riseki wipes away his tears and looks at Atsumu. There’s determination burning in his eyes when he replies, “Yes, sir!”

Atsumu blinks in surprise. He hadn’t exactly expected Riseki to respond with such enthusiasm, but it isn’t unwelcome. He continues on, “This legacy’s yers to carry on now, captain. Make sure they’ll never forget the name of our school.”

He pauses and looks around the gym. His eyes are inevitably drawn to the school banner, the gold kanji of their school motto proudly staring back at him. Then, he looks back at Riseki and grins — cunning, ruthless and vicious all rolled into one — and says, “Most importantly, make sure ya won’t need any memories.”

When Atsumu walks out of the gates of Inarizaki High School for the last time, he doesn’t look back.

* * *

2 weeks after their graduation, Osamu and Rintarou break up.

There are no warning signs or big fights leading up to it. One day, Osamu returns from a date with Rintarou and just casually announces, “Rin and I broke up.”

Atsumu, who had been in the middle of eating a pudding cup, stares at him blankly, his mind trying to process what he’d just heard. He’s pretty sure the words ‘break up’ didn’t have another meaning to them, but—

“You _what_?” he asks anyway, in case he’d hallucinated it.

Osamu gives him a flat stare, as if Atsumu is the slowest person on the planet. “We broke up,” he repeats himself, as he moves to place the bag of food down on the kitchen counter.

Okay, so Atsumu hadn’t hallucinated it. Still, it makes no sense at all to him. Osamu and Rintarou have been dating for almost 2 years now and the biggest fight they’ve ever had had been when Rintarou had shown up late to a date at the new dessert shop, resulting in them missing out on the bestselling dessert and having to settle for a different one off the menu. Osamu had sulked for a whole week until Rintarou somehow persuaded the owner of the shop to let him buy the bestseller dessert as a takeaway to appease his angry boyfriend.

 _That_ had been the biggest fight Osamu and Rintarou ever had in their 2 years of dating. So what exactly could have caused then to break up now?

“Why'd you guys break up?” Atsumu finally asks after a few minutes of wracking his brain trying to think of possible reasons. “Didja fight or somethin’?”

“No, nothin’ like that.” Osamu waves it off as he continues unloading the groceries from the bag. “It’s just, well.” He pauses, as if trying to figure out how to word it properly. “We’re both going to different cities, y’know?”

“Long-distance is a thing, ‘Samu.” Atsumu finishes the last of his pudding cup and moves to toss it into the trash. “Yer not even gonna try it?”

Osamu frowns, shaking his head. “‘S not that I didn’t think about that. I did.”

Atsumu raises an eyebrow at that. “But?” he prompts when Osamu doesn’t continue.

“I just don’t think it woulda worked out.” Osamu shrugs. “Rin and I, we don’t even really text anymore. Our love language’s more like, touch and stuff, I dunno, whatever ya call it.”

 _You guys used to text all the time_ , Atsumu thinks. _Back when you first started dating._

It’s not his place, though, so he doesn’t say it out loud. Instead, he asks, “So like, Rin just agreed to break up?”

Osamu nods. “Yeah. We both decided it’s better to break it off now rather than later.” He grabs a pudding cup of his own and peels back the packaging. “Neither of us wants to hold the other back anyways.”

“Whatever,” Atsumu mutters. “I don’t care what ya do with Rin.”

Later, he texts Rintarou, _heard about the breakup from samu, u ok?_

Rintarou leaves him on delivered, but Atsumu finds himself more worried than annoyed.

* * *

When Rintarou calls Atsumu up 2 days after the breakup, he’s not expecting Rintarou to finally cash in the favour Atsumu owes him from last year.

Truth be told, Atsumu has almost forgotten about the favour he owes Rintarou. He’d been hyperaware of it in the first month after his surgery, but Rintarou hadn’t used it at all. Then, Atsumu had just gradually let it slip from his mind while he concentrated on more important things like volleyball.

“The favour you owe me,” Rintarou says immediately, the moment Atsumu picks up the phone. “I’m cashing it in today.”

Atsumu blinks, then looks over to the clock, which reads as 9.41 pm. “Right now?” Atsumu asks in slight disbelief, wondering what Rintarou could possibly want to use his favour on at this time of night.

“No, tomorrow,” Rintarou replies sarcastically. “Of course right now, you idiot.”

Atsumu is about to retort in defence of himself, but Rintarou pushes on without letting him, “I need you to meet me at that bus stop near your house.”

Something clicks into place in Atsumu’s mind. “You—”

“Meet me there in 5,” Rintarou cuts him off. “Don’t be late.”

Then, he hangs up.

*

Rintarou is already waiting at the bus stop when Atsumu jogs to a stop in front of him. He’s leaning against the side of the bus stop with his resting poker face on.

The first thing Atsumu says is, “You got it too?”

It’s a question that’s entirely too vague, and Rintarou could have chosen to wait for Atsumu to clarify it better. Instead, Rintarou nods. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Guess it’s my turn to have my lungs filled with flowers.”

Rintarou doesn’t need to say who they’re for. He’s fresh out of a breakup, and Atsumu has first-handedly witnessed countless times how whipped Rintarou is for Osamu.

Atsumu doesn’t know how to reply to something like that, though, so instead, he asks, “You’ve already gotten the first appointment and everything?”

Rintarou nods again. “Yeah. Just the surgery left to go.”

There’s silence after that for a while. Atsumu’s mind hadn’t stopped racing when his legs did; if anything, it had sped up. On the other hand, Rintarou seems entirely nonchalant, like he isn’t the one about to have his lungs carved open and his memories of his ex-boyfriend removed.

“Are ya sure about this?” Atsumu asks finally. “Didn’t you guys just break up ‘cuz of the distance?”

Rintarou glances at him out of the corner of his eye before shifting his gaze back down to the floor. “I’m gonna be a professional player, y’know? Can’t be coughing up flowers every damn second of the day.”

The day of the Spring Interhigh finals, after they’d won against Itachiyama, Rintarou had been scouted by EJP Raijin and asked to audition for the team. Atsumu had been overjoyed for him, thumping him on the back and shouting right in Rintarou’s ear that he’d better audition and treat him and Osamu to a meal when he gets in. 

Rintarou had acted annoyed when he'd shoved Atsumu off of him, but there had been an unmistakable gleam in his eyes. Atsumu knew that for someone like Rintarou, who’d walked the edge between loving volleyball and simply liking it, not quite knowing if he was good enough to love it — for someone like Rintarou, this had been a chance he’d wish for on a shooting star but never quite dare to hope for.

So of course Atsumu understands the choice Rintarou has made. Atsumu knows better than anyone else the sacrifices you inevitably have to make in life. 

Even so, Atsumu thinks of the empty feeling in his chest, something like a hollowed-out heart, whenever he so much as thinks of Kita Shinsuke. He thinks of the missing memories, how he only got to keep a few of Kita from his first year at Inarizaki — back when Atsumu hadn’t looked at Kita with anything apart from admiration and fear in his eyes. He thinks of how a 2-year bond had culminated and then crumbled to dust all in 2 hours of surgery.

Atsumu wants to scream the question in the back of his mind. _But what if you regret it? Won’t you regret it later on? Are you really that ready to throw away all you have of 'Samu?_

He doesn’t get the chance to, because Rintarou turns to him and smiles in a way Atsumu is only too familiar with. Under the yellow glow of the streetlight, Rintarou’s smile looks like mercury. It reminds Atsumu of the way he himself used to smile in the 2 weeks after he started coughing up flowers — except there’s lead laced into the curve of Rintarou’s lips, and it’s more like a razor-sharp edge than the slow insidious acid that ate away at Atsumu’s.

Rintarou’s eyes meet Atsumu’s for the first time tonight, and he says, just loud enough for Atsumu to catch the wavering of his words, “'Sides, they're not from the breakup.”

For a split second, Rintarou looks like he might cry. Then, he averts his eyes and the moment shatters. 

_Oh_ , Atsumu thinks, and his heart almost breaks in place of Rintarou’s.

“Oh,” he says out loud, dumbly, as a buffer while he searches frantically for something else to say.

But what else can he say to that? Kita Shinsuke never returned Atsumu’s feelings — everything Atsumu had felt for Kita had been one-sided, unrequited, unreciprocated. But Atsumu wonders now, would it have hurt more if Kita had fallen out of love with him instead? How would it have felt? 

Atsumu doesn’t ever want to know the answer to that question.

So Atsumu doesn’t say anything more, and neither does Rintarou. They wait under the yellow streetlight for the bus in silence. Rintarou is always on his phone, but tonight, he seems content to just stand there, all of 20 centimetres between him and Atsumu, and _wait_.

If it had been any other point in time, Atsumu would already have made some snide remark about Rintarou not being on his phone. But it’s March 28th, 9.53 pm on a Friday, approximately one year after Atsumu had Kita Shinsuke carved out of his lungs.

So Atsumu stands there, 20 centimetres between him and Rintarou, and lets silence fill in the rest.

* * *

The silence carries on into the bus ride to the hospital. 

Rintarou is sitting in the window seat with Atsumu next to him, looking out of the window with a bored expression on his face. Atsumu sneaks a glance at him every once in a while, as if he’ll somehow manage to catch Rintarou slipping up and making an expression that’s _not_ bored.

He’s still dealing with the revelation from earlier, when Rintarou had revealed that Osamu was the one who had fallen out of love. Atsumu still remembers like it was just yesterday when Osamu had admitted that he might have feelings for Rintarou, after Atsumu had cornered him into it. He’d found it disgusting, at the time, how _lovesick_ Osamu had looked then.

Now, it sends chills down his spine to know that something like that could dissolve into indifference in the span of 2 years.

There are 24 months in 2 years. 104 weeks. 730 days. In those 730 days, Atsumu has borne witness to the start and end of a relationship. He’d been present for several lovey-dovey couple moments that he’d rather not have seen. And now, those moments are going to be erased from Rintarou’s memory while they stay a part of Atsumu’s.

Atsumu is the only one left in the wake of a breakup that didn’t even involve him, holding the memories Rintarou will leave behind and the knowledge that Rintarou still loved Osamu even after Osamu fell out of love with him.

He voices this out, “‘S gonna be weird”—Rintarou turns to look at him with an amused look in his eyes—“you forgettin’ about everything you did with ‘Samu while I still remember some of ‘em.”

Rintarou laughs, but there’s irony, thick as honey, dripping from every word he says as he quotes, “‘Who needs memories’, right?”

Atsumu is stunned for a moment. Then, he barks out a short, harsh laugh of his own. 

“Yeah,” he says, a smile that’s not quite twisted right on his lips. “Yer right as always, Rin.”

* * *

The hospital Rintarou had booked his surgery at is the same one Atsumu went to last year. While Rintarou sorts out the details with the receptionist, Atsumu pretends to busy himself on his phone to not seem awkward loitering around.

Once everything is ready, Rintarou comes over and slaps him on the shoulder to get his attention. “Hey, I’m done. They’re bringing me to my room now.”

That catches Atsumu’s attention. “Your _room_?” he repeats, not quite believing his ears. “Why do ya get a room all to yerself? They put me in a ward with like 10 other people when I got it done.”

Rintarou rolls his eyes, like he can’t believe what a brat Atsumu is being. “Long story short, I have to stay in the hospital for a few days after the surgery.” His tone is clipped, clearly indicating that he doesn’t want to elaborate on it.

While Atsumu follows behind Rintarou, who’s being led by the nurse to his room, he mulls over the possibilities. Why would Rintarou need to be hospitalised after the surgery? Atsumu is pretty sure that Rintarou is healthy and doesn’t have any other medical conditions.

The answer comes to him as they arrive at the hospital room Rintarou will be occupying for the next few days. 

“How long?” he blurts out when the nurse has left. 

Rintarou looks at Atsumu like he’s crazy. “What?” he asks incredulously, the blue patient gown he’s supposed to change into clutched in a hand.

“How long have you had the flowers for?” 

The disbelieving expression on Rintarou’s face changes into something more guarded. Then, Rintarou sighs, and it changes again — this time, to palpable heartbreak.

“4 weeks,” he mutters, so quiet that Atsumu would have missed it had he not been paying attention.

“4 weeks?” Atsumu does some quick maths. “Since before graduation?”

Rintarou hesitates for a second. “I’m surprised you can count that far back but yes, before graduation.” His words are mocking, but they lack their usual bite. Instead, more than anything else, Rintarou sounds defeated.

Seeing Rintarou like this makes Atsumu’s heart clench uncomfortably for reasons he doesn’t quite understand. It’s _jarring_ , to see Rintarou so unspeakably vulnerable, and Atsumu’s brain is going haywire trying to reconcile _this_ Rintarou with the usual Rintarou he knows — the Rintarou whose 2 main languages are sarcasm and manipulation, who knows exactly which sore spots to poke at, who watches with sly fox eyes and hides his intelligence behind a mask of laziness. 

_This_ Rintarou looks tired, but not his usual brand of tired that he claims to be during volleyball practice — no, this is the kind of deep-seated exhaustion that slowly sinks into your bones over the course of 4 weeks while you pretend that everything is fine.

Atsumu knows this situation isn’t anyone’s fault — not Osamu’s, for falling out of love, and not Rintarou’s, for still loving someone who doesn’t love him back anymore. Still, it’s hard to just stand there and let the overwhelming feeling of helplessness drag him under.

Atsumu has always hated feeling powerless and unable to do anything.

Just then, he hears Rintarou trying to hack up a lung and before he can stop himself, he’s thrown back the curtains only to find Rintarou hunched over a bucket, purple and red petals spilling out of his mouth.

 _There are two kinds_ , Atsumu’s brain helpfully points out as Atsumu continues to stare at the petals in the bucket.

He knows he shouldn’t be staring, but he just can’t seem to tear his eyes away.

Rintarou pulls back from the bucket and finds Atsumu staring. A question rests on the tip of his tongue, almost rolling out before Atsumu realises, but he manages to catch it in time.

“Yeah, it’s pretty bad,” Rintarou says, almost ruefully. “Probably should’ve gotten the surgery sooner.”

Then, he reaches into the bucket. “These”—he holds up a purple flower—“are called kikyo.”

Atsumu opens his mouth to say something but Rintarou shoots him a look that shuts him up effectively.

“And these”—Rintarou holds up the red, strand-like petals, and Atsumu pretends he doesn’t see Rintarou’s hands trembling—“are higanbana.”

Atsumu tries to think of a suitable response, but the only one he finds is, “Mine were sakura.”

Rintarou snorts, a wan smile on his lips as he says, “I know.”

*

At some point, while they’re waiting for the nurse to come by and get Rintarou prepped for the surgery, Atsumu asks, “Hey, do ya want me to tell you? Like, after?”

Rintarou is quiet for a moment. 

Then, he says, “Only if I ask.”

“Okay,” Atsumu replies.

“And only his name.”

“Okay.”

*

Later, when Rintarou has been wheeled into the operating theatre and Atsumu is left all alone, he takes out his phone, opens up an internet browser, and searches up the meaning of kikyo flowers.

 _Endless love and honesty_ , the search results tell him.

Atsumu hesitates for a moment, and then repeats the search for higanbana.

The words _final goodbye_ look back at him from the screen.

Just then, Atsumu recalls a myth his grandmother had once told him about higanbana — that they grow wherever people part ways for good.

Something in his ribcage constricts. Atsumu reckons it might be his heart.

 _But this hurt isn’t even mine_ , Atsumu thinks. It’s not his relationship, it’s not his hurt to carry — the owner of this hurt is in surgery right now to have it removed. It’s a sad story, but it doesn’t involve _him_ , not directly, and so it’s not something he should get emotionally involved in.

Yet he finds himself neck-deep in this situation, wondering just when he'd started to care so much about someone other than himself.

If it had been the Atsumu from 2 years ago, he would have left this hurt on the roadside and walked away without any hesitation. But perhaps it's because the Atsumu now has had the Hanahaki surgery done and knows that nothing really feels wrong after, save for the chasm in his hippocampus and a chest that feels immeasurably lighter. Perhaps it's because sometimes, Atsumu's tear ducts malfunction when he sees a box of umeboshi at the convenience store and he has to discreetly wipe the tears away before anyone else sees. Perhaps, it's because sometimes, Atsumu's heart aches randomly and he finds himself scrambling to find out what could have possibly caused it this time — what small, trivial everyday thing did he use to associate with Kita that he's come across now?

Perhaps it’s because Atsumu still finds himself collecting little pieces and hints of a love that used to be his and he's unsure of why exactly he can't seem to let go even after everything.

Because in spite of himself, Atsumu finds himself thinking, resignedly, _But who else will carry this hurt, if not me?_

In the end, he packages up the hurt into a box, taking care to avoid cutting himself on its sharp edges. Like this, the hurt is easily tucked away into some part of his brain that he won't accidentally stumble on. Like this, maybe the hurt will dissipate into nothing, and when Atsumu opens up the box next, all that's left will be the worn, secondhand memories Rintarou had discarded. 

And if Rintarou decides one day to ask him about them, Atsumu will be able to jibe at him for a good minute or two before he gracefully indulges Rintarou with the box he’d kept for him.

Atsumu looks at his phone again. The search result page for higanbana is still there, staring at him. After a moment’s hesitation, he clears the page and closes the browser.

He doesn’t search up the meaning of sakura flowers.

* * *

Some time into Rintarou’s surgery, Atsumu takes the opportunity to text his mom that he'll be staying over at Rintarou’s for the night, and to not tell Osamu where he is. He doesn’t want to have to answer any questions, either from his mom or Osamu, so he’s gone with a pretty believable lie that will hold up unless someone decides to check-in on them at Rintarou’s house.

That’s highly unlikely to happen, though, so Atsumu doesn’t worry too much about it.

Atsumu loses count of how long he waits there in the hospital room, sitting on the chair beside the empty bed. He just knows that he and silence don’t get along well, so he plugs in earphones and opens up a V.League 1 match recording to watch.

Halfway into the fourth set of the match, the door to the room opens and Rintarou is wheeled back in by two nurses. Atsumu pauses the video, jumping out of his chair to make room for the nurses to transport Rintarou onto the bed.

When the nurses have finished their task, Atsumu bows his head to them as they leave, then turns to look at Rintarou, who’s still unconscious.

He briefly wonders if this had been how Rintarou had seen him when Atsumu had gotten his surgery.

Frail isn’t a word anyone would use to describe Suna Rintarou — he’s over 185 cm tall and he has the build of an athlete. But maybe it’s the oxygen mask strapped to Rintarou’s face or the hospital gown he’s wearing that gives him that impression. It’s not a thought that stays long in Atsumu’s mind either way, because he shakes his head, and returns to watching the match video.

Atsumu had just finished watching the match and is in the middle of selecting a new one to watch when a nurse comes back in to adjust the oxygen flow to Rintarou’s lungs. When she’s done with that, she asks Atsumu to press the call button when Rintarou wakes up to let them know. Then, she leaves the room.

Atsumu resumes his video selection process.

Rintarou wakes up somewhere between the end of the second set and the beginning of the third. Atsumu reaches over to press the call button as he says, conversationally, “Oh, yer awake.”

Rintarou simply blinks at him but doesn’t answer. Atsumu doesn’t fault him for that — he knows exactly how it’d felt just waking up from being put under anaesthetic.

The same nurse from before arrives in less than 5 minutes. She checks Rintarou’s vitals, notes his oxygen saturation down on the chart, and removes the oxygen mask from his face. After a few more seconds of writing on the chart, she lets them know the doctor will be here soon, and leaves just as quickly as she’d come.

It’s a different doctor to the one Atsumu had that comes in to explain everything to Rintarou. Rintarou listens to the doctor quietly, nodding his head every now and then to show that he’s actually listening. The doctor asks if he has any questions. Rintarou shakes his head.

After the doctor leaves, Atsumu waits for Rintarou to ask him who the flowers were for.

But Rintarou doesn’t ask, nor does he say anything. He simply lies there on the hospital bed, blankly staring off into space.

So Atsumu doesn’t tell him.

*

On the first day after Rintarou’s surgery, Atsumu wakes up to a crick in his neck from his horrible sleeping posture and Rintarou staring at him.

“Were ya watchin’ me sleep or sumthin’?” Atsumu’s voice is raspy, having just woken up seconds ago. He reaches a hand up to rub the sleep away from his eyes.

Rintarou scoffs at the very idea. “Please, I’m not the one who used to stalk my team captain from afar during lunch break.” 

Atsumu, who’d been in the middle of trying to stretch out the crick in his neck, yawns. It’s too early into his usual morning routine to properly process anything, so he simply shrugs. “'S a shame the surgery didn't remove yer tendency to be an asshole," he quips back. "Besides, I don’t remember none of that so it never happened."

Rintarou probably feels bad for bringing up Kita at all, even if it’s been so long since Atsumu had last felt anything for him, because he changes the subject, “I asked the nurse for an extra toothbrush for you, by the way. So you can get rid of your bad breath.”

“Oh really? Thanks, Rin.” Atsumu ignores the latter part of what Rintarou had said, reaching over to grab the toothbrush Rintarou is extending to him instead.

After he has finished freshening up as best he can with the limited supplies on hand, Atsumu walks back out to Rintarou looking through his phone.

“Didja eat yet?” Atsumu asks, rifling through the bag he’d brought with him for his wallet. His stomach has been making all sorts of noises that it might as well be screaming _feed me!_ at this point.

Rintarou nods. “The nurse brought me breakfast. It was just porridge and stuff, though.”

Atsumu huffs a quiet laugh to himself. Of course Rintarou would find hospital breakfast subpar after dating Osamu for close to two years — he’s practically been spoiled with delicious food.

The thought makes him feel a bit guilty, so Atsumu buys a few bakery rolls for Rintarou from the cafeteria after he’s had breakfast. He doesn’t think they’re world-class, but they definitely beat out porridge in the taste department, at the least.

Rintarou accepts the bag from the bakery with suspicion in his eyes. “Why are you being nice to me?” he asks even as he unwraps one of the rolls and bites into it.

Atsumu shrugs. “What, can’t I be nice to someone who just had his chest cut open?” 

Rintarou narrows his eyes at Atsumu. “Now I’m even more suspicious.” 

Even so, Rintarou eats all the bakery rolls Atsumu had brought him.

*

Atsumu visits him every day. The time of his arrival varies a fair bit, but he shows up without fail each day with new V.League 1 matches he forces Rintarou to watch with him.

On the third day, Rintarou asks him why.

“I don’t have anything else to do,” Atsumu lies. He still hasn’t finished packing, but there’s no way for Rintarou to know that.

Truthfully, Atsumu doesn’t know exactly why he keeps showing up to visit his brother’s ex at the hospital, but he figures it has something to do with his extreme personality trait of “all in or all out”. If he’s going to pay someone back for a favour, he might as well go all the way.

On the fourth day, Atsumu brings up something he’s noticed over the past few days.

“Hey, Rin. How come I never see ya parents when I come visit?”

He’d asked the question right while Rintarou had been in the middle of a mouthful of pudding Atsumu had brought him. Rintarou swallows, then says, “That would be because they haven’t visited me.”

Atsumu pauses. _Shitshitshit_ , he freaks. He’s just hit a landmine. Abort mission.

Rintarou has the audacity to laugh when he sees the panicked look on Atsumu’s face. “It’s not family trouble or anything like that,” he clarifies. “They’re just both out of town for work.”

“Oh,” Atsumu replies, dumbly. Then, he seems to realise Rintarou had baited him, because he says, hotly, “Hey! Then what didja word it like that for! Anyone woulda gotten the wrong idea!”

Rintarou snickers. “Just thought it’d be funny to see your reaction.”

His eyes are shining with mirth, and Atsumu finds that the angry retort on his tongue evaporates almost instantly.

Instead, Atsumu says, without much heat to it, “Yer a dickface jerk, Rin.”

“Thanks,” Rintarou replies sincerely.

*

When Rintarou is finally discharged from the hospital 3 days later, Atsumu walks him back home. Once they arrive at the bus stop, Rintarou turns to him and tells him, “You can just head back to your house from here since it’s closer. I’ll be fine on my own.”

Atsumu pretends to think about it for a second before shaking his head. “Nah,” he says decisively, not leaving any room for argument. “I’ll walk you all the way back. Gotta get in some exercise, anyway.”

Rintarou shrugs, as if to say that it doesn’t really matter much to him either way. 

The walk to Rintarou’s house is filled with silence and Atsumu occasionally glancing in Rintarou’s direction to make sure he doesn’t overexert himself. Since Rintarou’s surgery had been more invasive—the flowers having spread to a larger portion of his lungs—he requires a longer period of rest to heal properly, and he definitely couldn't partake in any sports activities for at least 2 weeks.

When Rintarou finally gets sick of all the glances Atsumu keeps throwing his way, he breaks the silence to say, “Atsumu, if you don’t stop looking at me every 5 seconds, I’m going to assume that you’re thinking of how best to confess your love to me.”

Atsumu balks at the very idea, stumbling on thin air and almost tripping over his own feet. In an attempt at a retort, he huffs out, “Like hell I’d ever confess my love to ya. I was just worried the stitches on yer chest were gonna pop open or somethin’, dontcha go making things up!”

Belatedly, he realises that maybe proclaiming you’d never fall in love with someone right to their face after they’d just had surgery to remove their unreciprocated feelings is a bit of a dick move. 

The apology burns bright in the back of his throat. Atsumu has never been good at apologising, but he finds himself unable to swallow it back down.

“Sor—” Just as he’s about to say it out, Rintarou cuts him off.

“Don’t apologise.” Atsumu turns to look at Rintarou, who’s resolutely looking ahead and not at Atsumu. “The world might end if you do."

“Fine, I won’t.” Atsumu still feels a tad bit guilty, but the apology had already been doused. He decides he’ll count his apology as not making a snarky reply to the latter part of what Rintarou had said.

A comfortable blanket of silence falls over them for the rest of the walk to Rintarou’s house, shielding them from the onslaught of the wind. 

When they finally reach Rintarou’s house, Atsumu turns to him and says, “Take care of yerself, Rin. Don’t do anything stupid”—Rintarou snorts at the irony of being told this by Atsumu of all people—“and dontcha go thinking ya can just ditch me after this. You better reply to any texts I send, got it?”

The corner of Rintarou’s lips quirks up slightly. “Yeah, yeah. See you, Atsumu.”

Atsumu lingers outside, watching Rintarou fumble with his keys to unlock the door. He waits until Rintarou has gone into his house and closed the door behind him. Then, he remains in that spot a few seconds more after that, an inscrutable expression on his face. 

When he leaves, he doesn’t look back.

* * *

They keep in touch. Life is busy for the both of them, and sometimes they go several days or weeks without any contact at all, but when he gets a break, Atsumu sends a funny meme or video to Rintarou and pretends he’s not waiting for a response by throwing himself back into volleyball practice.

There’s no real schedule for Rintarou’s replies, but he always responds within the same day that Atsumu texts him. Sometimes, Rintarou even texts Atsumu _first_ , even if the most recent occurrence of it had been to make fun of Atsumu’s interview answers in some volleyball magazine.

Video calls are rare, and usually only reserved for occasions like the other’s birthday when they aren’t able to celebrate it in person. They're normally short, too — just a quick happy birthday wish and some snide remarks about how the other is getting on in years. Still, Atsumu finds himself waiting in anticipation on the nights before his birthdays, for his phone screen to light up with a video call request.

One day, Atsumu receives some exciting news from his coach during practice and hurries to text Rintarou about it.

_hey, ya remember the lil orange MB from karasuno?_

_yeah_

_hinata shouyou, right?_

_yea!!_

_well guess what!_

_he’s gonna be on the same team as me!!!!_

_cool_

_this line-up is soooooo good_

_we’re gonna beat ur ass into the dust next time we play_

_ya better get ready to lose, ya loser!_

Rintarou leaves him on read after that, but Atsumu is too hyped to care much about it. Besides, he’s pretty sure Rintarou is just jealous that Atsumu’s team just got another amazing addition to it.

Just thinking about playing against EJP Raijin again makes Atsumu tremble with excitement. Maybe it’s silly to be getting this pumped up when he doesn’t even know when their next match will be, but there’s one thing Atsumu knows for sure.

As long as they keep playing volleyball to the best they can, there will eventually come a day when they meet on the court once again.

And when that day comes, they’re going to wipe the floor with EJP Raijin.

* * *

The next time they play EJP Raijin, they win.

It’s a narrow win, with both teams going head to head and snatching points back as soon as they are stolen. They end up playing full sets, too, with the final set’s score reaching into the 30s. In the end, Sakusa is the one who earns them the final point, his wrist snapping the volleyball down into the other side of the court powerfully, and there’s a split second in that very moment that Atsumu is whisked back to his final volleyball match of high school, more than 4 years ago.

Then, the whistle blows, and Atsumu snaps back to the present.

“Nice kill, Omi-kun!” Atsumu calls, reaching both hands up into the air for high-fives. 

Sakusa hesitates, but he must still be on a high from scoring the winning point because he obliges and high-fives Atsumu.

They line-up, and Atsumu finds himself looking over to Rintarou. When it’s their turn to shake hands at the net, Atsumu grins.

“Told ya we’d beat you,” he says triumphantly.

“Congratulations on the win,” Rintarou begins, but his smirk is telling of what’s coming next, “I know we gave you a rather hard time, dragging it on into a deuce multiple times, hm?”

They glare at each other for a few seconds. Then, both of them burst out laughing. 

Unbeknownst to them, their teammates simultaneously exhale a sigh of relief.

“It was a good game, Rin.” Atsumu smiles, a bit more genuine this time around. “Was getting real tired of yer blocks, though.”

“Thanks.” Rintarou beams at him. “Now you know how I feel about your serves.”

After both teams finish changing in their respective locker rooms, they head out to eat. The game had dragged on a bit, and most of the team had been busy and had had to leave or had prior engagements, so it ends up being just Atsumu, Sakusa, Hinata, and Bokuto from the MSBY Black Jackals team, and Komori and Rintarou from the EJP Raijin team. They are joined by Akaashi, who’d come down from Tokyo to visit Bokuto, and Osamu.

Atsumu might have worried about it being awkward between Osamu and Rintarou, but this isn't the first time they're meeting again after the breakup, and said breakup had been over 4 years ago.

They go to a ramen bar within walking distance of the stadium. It's small and kind of cramped, but Atsumu swears on his life that it serves the best tonkotsu ramen in the area.

Fortunately, Atsumu had had the sense to make a reservation for a booth, and the 8 of them squeeze into the booth after Sakusa sanitises the entirety of it. Atsumu and Rintarou wind up opposite each other, with both being seated on the most outside of the booth. 

After they place their order, the conversation jumps to discussing the earlier game, with both teams giving the other some pointers. After that, the conversation turns to Onigiri Miya and the expansion Osamu has planned for it. And after that, the conversation falls to Hinata, who excitedly shares some stories from his time in Brazil.

When their order finally arrives, they dig in without any hesitation, their appetites having been stoked by the earlier game. This place really does have the best tonkotsu ramen around, the others all agree unanimously after placing an order for second servings.

They talk, and they laugh, and they eat. It’s the kind of atmosphere that keeps you warm inside even when it’s less than 10 degrees out. 

It's the kind of atmosphere that Atsumu wants to cut out of time and live in forever.

As he sneaks some glances around the booth, he finds that this is the happiest he's been in a while, and that really, all he wants to say is, _we all made it in the end_. 

Because they have. Everyone packed into this tiny booth together looks happy and like they wouldn't rather be anywhere else. And sitting around hearing about each other's achievements and plans for the future only hammers in the realisation that they've all grown up.

That the tomorrow Atsumu has been chasing after all this time — he's already got a foot in it, at the very least.

Maybe it isn't exactly the future Atsumu had planned out for himself when he was 10 years old and the teacher had assigned it to them as homework. Maybe it isn't the future Atsumu had envisioned when he had been in 2nd year of high school with an ego taller than the Tokyo Skytree and a crush the size of the Eiffel Tower on Kita Shinsuke.

But it's _his_ future now, and Atsumu won't trade it for anything else. 

At some point, Atsumu looks over at Rintarou, who’s laughing at something Komori said and looking impossibly ethereal for someone squeezed into a small booth with dodgy lighting and 7 other people, and maybe it's the high from the earlier win, or maybe it's the satiety that comes with 2 bowls of ramen and being surrounded by some of the closest friends he has, but—

He feels something flutter in his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> If you've read until the end, thank you for doing so. I'd love to hear your thoughts so please do share them in a comment with me. Leaving a kudos if you liked this would also make my day :)
> 
> Fun fact #1: The original ending for this fic was supposed to end with AtsuSuna actually getting together, but I thought that was a good place to end it instead :)
> 
> Fun fact #2: The scene that inspired this entire AU was (direct from my notes): "atsumu and rin under a yellow streetlight in the middle of the night, with no one around for miles, waiting in the cold winter for a bus that never comes." [As you can see, several things have changed to fit the context of the fic but I thought this was a pretty aesthetic to share!]
> 
> I'm pretty new to this fandom so I apologize if I've mischaracterized the characters ;-; that aside though, I'd love to make some new friends so pls do hmu if you'd like!
> 
> twitter - @voiacious  
> tumblr - @volacious  
> curious cat - @volacious (if you want any clarifications on this fic? or if you have any general questions)
> 
> Let me know which part of the fic (or line) was your favourite (if you have one), I assure you it'll definitely make my week!
> 
>  **last edited 5/10/2020:** caught a missing word and added it in; figured why not and ended up adding an extra few sentences too


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